


Where Does The Wind Rise

by indi_indecisive



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Faun Tekhartha Zenyatta, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Okami Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 13:37:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13008963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indi_indecisive/pseuds/indi_indecisive
Summary: For the first time in many years autumn brought drought to the forest. Wolves are hungry, deer are scattered. Anyone foolish enough to stay in the forest would end up dead, whether prey or predator. Zenyatta is a bold man, and the wolf will hunt for its prey.





	Where Does The Wind Rise

For the first time in many years autumn brought drought to the forest. Critters abandoned their homes in the search for water, branching farther from their homes with each passing day; not a single soul was spared from dehydration, tree leaves crisped quicker, bugs curled and died, and birds fell in the middle of flight. Herds of deer left the forest once rivers trickled to streams, and the few bold enough to linger near the last few dry mud ponds and streams faced the wrath of hunger pained driven wolves; eventually the wolves followed the deer, seeking water and the prey that had left before them.

One faun, with warm brown skin, black hair, and soft blue eyes, was bolder than the rest, staying in the forest to care for the creatures incapable, or stubborn driven by nature, to leave their homes. He knew the secrets of the forest, relayed to him by his kin, and felt no fear to the dangers of dehydration or starvation in staying behind. Currently the young faun had retreated to a shaded pond, whose water was stagnant as the streams that once carried the water turned to caked mud, protected by a rocky outcrops, covered in trees and bushes.

Zenyatta stood still, tail stiffened and angled in alert, listening to the sounds of the forest. A frog croaked nearby, then hopped from its branch to another, snapping a twig in the process; the birds sitting high in their branches above him continued trilling their autumn songs, and non called out below of danger on the forest ground. 

The wolf crouches low in a nearby bush, brown fur matted, looking more like a pile of dead tree leaves than a mass of powerful muscle; he licks his maw, hungered, plagued with stomach pains and shaking limbs. Autumn had not been kind to the lone wolf, who had left his pack many moons ago; despite his hunger he had not come to regret the decision, eyes narrowed in predatory slits as he studied the young faun. Moving forward slowly, as he wished not to startle his prey or alert the twittering birds, the beast would inch forward until he was partly exposed from the bush. How delicious the young faun looked, his very sight making the wolf's stomach rumble. 

Zenyatta tilted his head to the side at the sound, catching movement from the corner of his eye. Every muscle in his body tensed, fear was a lump in his throat, blue eyes wide. “-- Oh.” Was all the faun managed to say, instinctively drawing back as the beast jumped forwards, arms covering his chest protectively. 

Claws sliced through subtle soft flesh, the faun was in excruciating pain, and knocked to the ground by the mighty beast.  The wolf bared his teeth at the faun, snarling as his claws dug deeper into the fauns side; blood soaked the ground beneath them, beautifully thriving grass stained was now stained scarlet from the squirming faun. Zenyatta’s mouth hung agape, pain was a white hot fire coursing through his veins, burning him from the inside out; his blood was sticky and sweet to the wolves nose, the beast breathing deeply as he snared, “Bend to me prey, bare your throat to me.” He seethed in anger that the weak creature had the audacity to hide his throat as he squirmed helpless beneath his grasp, blood oozing from his the puncture wounds at either side of his sleek waist, and the faun shook his head in added defiance to command. The wolf lifted the faun by the sides, claws digging deeper, slamming the pained body against the ground in aggravation. “How dare you deny me, bare your throat or die slowly, faun!”

Deep breaths, the faun counted each breath slowly, looking at the gaping maw above him, looking to the sharpened teeth and dry tongue waiting impatiently to rip into his throat; he would not allow it, although he had no idea how he would escape the hold he was in, each pained wiggle only pushed  the claws deeper into his side. “You do not want to--”

“You know nothing of what I want … beyond your blood on my tongue and flesh in my stomach!” The wolf snarled, eyes wide and maddened with hunger. Drool dripped freely from his chin, the thick copper scent of blood did nowt to control primal instinct: he wanted nothing more than to rip free the intestine of the faun and gnaw on his rump for hours, to settle down and enjoy the grind of teeth on bone, and to have his chin coated thick in scarlet ichor. He would attest his pride and birthright to be the reason he did not devolve into a mindless predator. “Bare your throat to me, prey. I have caught you.” He stared in shocking awe as the faun refused to show his throat; the creature before him looked meek and helpless, and still defiance burned in his actions.

He could not kill him.

The beast hesitated, mouth drawn to a tight snarl, nose scrunched in aggravation as claws slipped easily from the flesh spoiling with every minute such vicious wounds went untreated. 

The faun looked at him with curious blues, shaking hands fall to his sides, pinching the flesh in a failing attempt to stop his heavy bleeding; breath shaking, Zenyatta would watch the beast draw to the bush, disappearing in the dead autumn leaves. Slowly the faun pushed himself up by the elbows, every breath left him in excruciating pain, the fauns vision was clouded milky white hot; his body tremble, and each attempt to stand left Zenyatta gasping for breath, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. Zenyatta was certain he would die, and the thought frightened him deeply. “Oh--” He choked on his prayers to the spirits, fingers slick with red, unable to pinch ripped flesh shut any longer. 

The world would fade from his eyes, mind overcome with the pungently sweet aroma of copper, and the faun would fall to the blood soaked forest ground. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Buy me a loot box?](https://ko-fi.com/A0034NN)


End file.
